Sundering Shadows
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Ziva and Gibbs during Hiatus Part II. Thoughts and emotions during their confrontation.


Sundering Shadows

**Summary:**The scene, and behind the scenes, when Ziva confronts Gibbs in Hiatus part two.

Ziva stood, watching Gibbs sleep. He looked so vulnerable, lying there in the hospital gown, the healing burns and cuts on his face and arms.

She wanted to leave him at peace. She had heard from Jenny, that he'd said he didn't want to remember. And, despite the pain it caused all of them, it would free him. She'd seen, in their very first meeting, the weight he bore. The year she'd worked with him had only served to reinforce her impression of a strong man, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders until he crumbled under the strain. And after what Ari had done to him, though they never spoke of it, she knew he had been pushed close to the edge. It was terrible, watching him relive the trauma of his wife's death and his grief, but she hoped he could recover easier the second time around. And of course, it would be far easier if he did not have to bear the burden of leading the NCIS team.

She wanted to leave him alone, but she couldn't. It wasn't just that he held important information regarding the terrorist plot unfolding aboard the _**Foster**_. They needed him. She knew, as she had known that night in his basement, that the world needed him. Needed his strength, his integrity, his determination. Needed his love, that would let him put himself in danger, simply to receive justice for his murdered team member. Needed his compassion, that forgave and accepted her, even knowing she had helped her brother psychologically torture him. Knowing that she had dug into the deepest, darkest secrets of his past, and exposed the wounds Ari had exploited in an attempt to drive him mad.

She took a deep breath, knowing that analyzing the situation wasn't going to make it easier. This was going to be painful for both of them, whether it worked or not. But hesitating over it did neither of them any good, and time was running out.

She moved forward, then reached hesitantly for his arm. She was a breath away, close enough to feel the soft hairs on it when he jerked awake, soundlessly, his arm twisting to catch hers. She had expected it, though, and didn't try to pull away. She knew his muscle memory was still good, however battered his mind was, and even with 15 years gone, he was a marine.

They stared at each other. She kept herself still, offering no signs of threat. He released her hesitantly, and pushed himself up on the bed. "I know you?"

She nodded, trying to stay calm. "Yes." She touched her chest lightly. "I am Ziva David."

He blinked, and visibly came up blank. "We work together?"

She nodded again. "Yes. I am the Mossad officer attached as liaison to your team."

He blinked again, disbelief in his eyes. "Mossad?" He made a soft, exasperated noise. "When did they start...?"

She cut him off. "It's been a year."

He jerked his head around to stare at her a moment, annoyance mixed with the puzzlement in his gaze. After a moment, he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Don't feel bad, but...I told that M.E. guy...

"Ducky. I know. You have worked with him for ten years, and you do not remember him." She finished his sentence again, knowing it would exasperate him. She needed him annoyed. It was the mental track she could best exploit. And it might hurt less for both of them.

He glared at her. "You always finish peoples sentences?"

"Only when I am in a hurry." She paused. "The Abu Sayev. They are planning an attack on board the _**USS**__** Foster.**_ If it succeeds it could be as bad as..."

"As 9-11." It was his turn to cut her off. He sat forward, rubbing his face. "I know."

It was her turn to be surprised. "You remember 9-11?"

He shook his head, pain and stress and anger all dancing in his eyes, his hands moving restlessly with the beginnings of agitation. "No. I don't. My boss told me."

She frowned. "Director Shepard?"

"No. I mean _my_ boss." With a rough, restless movement, he ripped the covers off and stood, pacing a few steps away from her. Then he spun back to her, anger and frustration in his blue eyes. "What the hell can I do?"

She took his face in both hands. "You must remember."

He jerked away from her, now truly angry. "I have been _trying_ to remember! Ever since I woke up in this room!"

"Try harder! You must." She didn't back down, didn't give him time to regain his equilibrium.

He jerked up short, only six or eight inches away. It was clear that if she'd been a man, he'd have grabbed her. He looked as though he were tempted to shake her anyway. Then he seemed to withdraw his temper, confining it to an icy glare and a clenched jaw, staring at her as if he expected the answers to appear written on her face.

She almost smiled, would have if the moment hadn't been so dire. Instead, she tried to encourage him. "There. That is a start."

He twitched back a fraction. "What?"

Desperation hit her. "That stare! That old Gibbs stare!" she realized with a start that it had been muscle memory, not true memory. "You gave it to all of us! Me, Tony, McGee...even Abby!"

"I...don't know...what you're talking about!" He wasn't raising his voice much, but the intensity was like a shout.

"You must!" She could see it in his eyes, how close he was. He looked more like the Gibbs she knew than he had for the past four days. It drove her crazy, knowing how close they were to the breakthrough.

The thought about muscle memory returned to her. There was one gesture...

She reached over and grabbed his hand, ignoring the way he stiffened. Before he could pull away, she brought it around to tap lightly against the back of her head in an admonishing slap.

His eyes widened, his head tilting just slightly in the way that she recognized as his thinking pose. Recognition flared, faltered, combating the shadows in his eyes.

It was enough. She could see the half-formed connections in his eyes, the haze just beyond recall. He recognized the gesture, and she could see in his questioning gaze that he was connecting it to her. Recognizing her. It was time. Time to play the card she held that no other did. It would either pull him back, or push him forever beyond their reach.

She took his arms, locking his gaze with hers. "Ari. Gibbs. Ari. Ari killed Kate."

Another flash of memory. She saw his eyes widen again, this time in both recognition and pain.

"And I..." She felt her voice break and knew she should have stopped it, but her own pain was far too strong. In the past year, she had forced herself never to look at the moment she had saved his life, the terrible truth there. Had forced herself not to think about it. She felt tears building in her eyes, her throat locking around the words she didn't want to speak. But she had to. "I...I killed Ari."

The last of her control broke on a sob, and she stood before him, weeping, unable to care any longer for anything more than the devastating grief that tore through her.

**8888888888**

He'd been startled to find a young woman in his room, even more so when she'd introduced herself. Ziva David. Mossad enforcement officer and liaison.

It felt like it should have been familiar, as all his other visitors had felt. But Franks was the only one he knew. She spoke of their association, and he felt a vague stirring in his mind, but he couldn't bring it forward. It drove him crazy, that feeling that the answer was just out of reach. It was that anxiety, so familiar over the past few days, that drove him out of bed.

He couldn't give her the information or the reassurance she wanted. He didn't have it. He knew he should have, but he didn't. It angered him, another person coming here, expecting him to understand, to remember things his mind simply refused to pick up. Angered him how they all expected so much from him, as if they were unable or unwilling to accept the damage he'd suffered, and the truth. He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Especially after what Franks had told him.

He wanted to throw her out, but he knew instinctively that he couldn't. She'd come right back in, or stand at his door and yell at him through it. She might even break the window. He settled for glaring at her.

"There. That is a start." She gestured to his face.

"What?" he didn't understand.

"That stare! The old Gibbs stare! You gave it to all of us!" She looked as confused and exasperated as he did.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" How could a stare be so important to her? It was just an expression.

Her jaw set. "You must." She studied him a moment. Then, without warning, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm upward and forward. He didn't even have time to react before she brought it around and tapped it against the back of her own head.

Images flashed in his mind.

_A__ brightly __lit __room, __rows __of __desks.__ His __desk. __Three __younger __individuals. __One __of __them__ her, __the __other __two __boys,__ one __with __short__ dark __hair __and __a __devil-may-care__ expression, __the __other __with __light__-colored__ hair __and __a__ worried __look. __He __came __up __behind __the __girl, __whacked __her __lightly __on __the __back __of __the__ head __to __get __her __to __focus. __It __was __half __joke, __half __genuine __admonishment,__ and __he __could__ see__ in__ her __smile, __and __her __change __in __attitude, __that __she __understood __both._

He blinked, tilting his head to stare at her in the dim light of the hospital room. He didn't remember, but he did. There was something...something important...

She held his gaze, her own intense. After a moment, she murmured. "Ari. Gibbs. Ari."

The name evoked a twisting feeling in his gut, but he didn't know why, only that he didn't like it.

She kept her gaze locked with his. "Ari killed Kate."

_He __was __standing __on __a __rooftop. __The __dark-__haired __young __man__ was __with __him. __Tony. __So __was __a __young __woman. __Not __Ziva, __but __another, __with __brown__ hair __and __laughing __brown __eyes. __Then, __with __no __warning, __a__ crimson__ spot __appeared__ on __her __forehead, __and __the __back __of __her __head__ exploded. __She __collapsed__ to __the __ground, __dead, __leaving __him __utterly __shaken __as __pain __and __shock __flooded __through __him._

It was so like the way Shannon had died that he felt himself shaking in fact as well as memory. His head was suddenly pounding, as if something wanted to break loose. The pain that flooded him seemed to spin everything into different shapes, offering half-formed connections he wasn't sure he wanted to reach for.

"And I..." Her words, the way her voice suddenly broke, jerked his attention back to the young woman in front of him. She was still watching him, but now there was pain to equal his in her expression. She held his gaze, even as a tear crept over her cheekbone. "I...I killed Ari."

The last word broke on a sob, pure grief such as he'd seen in his own eyes in the mirror when Shannon had died. It shook him, and another image broke free in his mind, flashing before him.

_A__ young __man, __slender, __dark-__haired __and__ dark-__eyed, __standing__ in__ his __basement.__ Holding__ his __rifle, __full __of __arrogance __and__ anger.__ The __gun__ raised __to__ point __at__ him.__ Then __there __was __the __cough __of __another __gun, __and__ the __young __man __fell __backward, __dead, __a __bullet __hole __in __his __forehead. __He__ looked__ up __as __Ziva __came __down __the __steps.__ She __nodded __an__ acknowledgment, __but __said __nothing __as __she __moved__ to __stand __beside __the __body. __There __was __pain __in __her __eyes._

The image brought with it a whirlwind of knowledge, making him almost stagger with reaction. He shuddered once, then looked at the distraught girl before him.

His hands reached out, one to take her shoulder, one to cup the side of her face so he could meet her gaze. The memory hurt, not just the death, but what he thought he knew. He looked into her eyes. "Your brother. He was your brother."

"Yes." The word was barely mumbled in the midst of another sob, and she was crying freely. He felt her nod slightly against his hand.

The confirmation shocked him. He stared at her. "You killed your own brother...to...to save me?"

She nodded again, then did the last thing he would have expected. She reached for him, taking his arms, seeking comfort. It shook him even more than the knowledge of what lay between them.

He pulled her to him, embracing her, holding her head against his shoulder as she wept. His mind was spinning. He wanted to turn away, wanted to reject what he had remembered, but...he couldn't.

Ziva had broken her own heart, sacrificed something truly precious, to save the life of the man he was. Gibbs felt his jaw tighten. She hadn't saved him, she'd saved the man he'd been a week ago, before he'd lost fifteen years of his life. The person he was as an NCIS agent, as her mentor, her leader...perhaps they'd even been friends. She'd given up her own brother's life, to save him. And now, she was standing in his hospital room, ripping open the wounds of her heart to try and bring that image of himself back.

He swallowed, his hands tightening around her. He wasn't sure if he meant to comfort her, or anchor himself. He felt as he had lying on the bluff, waiting for his wife's killer to pass. The feeling of standing above a cliff, trying to decide if he would leap into the void and fall, or back away. But he knew what he had chosen then, and it was no different now. But now...it was love, not vengeance. He could ignore the call of duty, the fear of disaster, but not the plea of the young woman in his arms, who had given up so much. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and fell into the memories of the past fifteen years.

**8888888888**

Ziva felt his arms tighten around her. Seconds later, she felt him inhale, the deep slow breath of a man preparing to do something difficult. Her own breath froze, then he exhaled, a sound of mingled pain and revelation. She twisted her head around to look up into his face.

His eyes were closed, his expression tight with strain, lips pressed together. A moment passed, then he let go and opened his eyes, looking down at her.

Ziva felt her breathing falter a second time, looking into those eyes. There was pain in them, and stress, but the shadows of lost time no longer clouded his gaze. He looked a little disoriented, but mixed with it was the strength, determination and ferocity she'd come to know so well. There too was the compassion, and the concern. She swallowed. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah, Ziva?"

The tone was his. She swallowed again, surprise and hope replacing even the pain she felt at remembering her brother's death. "You remember."

"Yeah." He nodded. She could tell, from the lines in his face, that it had taken a tremendous toll on him, and likely wasn't over yet. She'd seen recovering victims before, and never one who had come back from so extreme a loss. But he didn't look as if he meant to let it stop him.

She could guess what had put that expression in his eyes. She wanted to let him rest and recover, but there was no time. "Abu Sayev?"

"I know. I remember now." He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to.

"Then we must get you to NCIS. I will call the doctor, so he can examine you and release you. And then I will call Tony, and tell him we are coming." She stopped, waiting for his approval.

"Sounds good." There was a pause, and then he gestured. "Better get going."

"Of course." she turned and started for the door, but his voice stopped her on the threshold.

"Ziva." She turned to find him still standing there, looking at her. To her surprise, there was just the faintest glimpse of humor in his eyes. He held her gaze for a few moments, then the corner of his mouth turned up the smallest bit, and he spoke softly. "Some clothes'd be nice."

She smiled back. "Of course. I will get them for you." They'd probably be hospital scrubs, given the urgency of the moment, but she had no doubt he'd prefer that to the indignity of a hospital gown. It didn't matter that his team had all seen him in that for the past few days, that even Franks had witnessed his state of undress. He wasn't showing up at NCIS in his current state.

She turned and left quickly, before there could be any more words between them. She felt that there was something more to say, but she had no idea what it was. 'Welcome back' felt wrong. 'I'm sorry' felt more appropriate, knowing what she was forcing him to endure, and to accept, but she knew he would never consent to hear her apology.

She sighed. She had taken the shadows of lost memory from his eyes. Soon enough, the shadows of pain and exhaustion would replace them. But perhaps, just perhaps, she would find a way to remove those too.

_**Author's Note:**_ _Started re-watching NCIS, and this sort of got stuck in my head._


End file.
